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Get a F$%*^&% life.

1. I made a list. And I went. And I listened. Because it was PAINFUL. And necessary. And important.
2. I’m not going to talk about the list that I made that was painful. And necessary. And important. I will talk about the other list. The list of lies.

Here’s that list:

– You shouldn’t compare yourself to others.
– You should do exactly what you want to do
– You should go easy on yourself
– You shouldn’t work too hard
The litany goes on

It’s time to shut that off. If I really love myself, if I REALLY believe in myself, if I REALLY am as good as I say I am, and as I know that I am, and as I think that I am … I need to stop WHINING.

I need to get angry. It’s time to get angry. It’s time to stop screwing around. It’s time to decide what I want, and do it. If I’m not doing what I want, I need to make it be what I want, and do that.

I am thirty-six years old. oh, and more than a half on top of that. That’s more than to almost forty. Time’s a’wastin,’ sister.

No comments please, about being easy on myself, I have a lot of time, I can do it.

-I know I can do it. If I get off my ass and do it, it will get done.
-If I stop being distracted by bright shiny things, it might get done.

Look at me. I don’t really look like I want it… do I?

No. That’s not what I’m talking about. I look like I’m hungry for attention, sure. I didn’t used to. Ironically, I was much more attractive when I was a hermit chained to my piano. I wasn’t really even writing songs then. I was playing the same four bars. Over and over. I was playing the same phrase in four different modes through the circle of fifths. I was making up chord progressions to do things through. I was trying to write five new solos for rhythm changes and put them in major keys (and do rhythm changes inverted!).

I used to not give a rats ass. I don’t know if I could do those things anymore.

I used to do “useless” stuff too. Who needs to know more than four Chopin etudes when they aren’t concertizing? It’s good for your speed and technique, that’s why! No one wants to hear me play these things when they can go get a recording of someone else playing Bach fugues faster and cleaner. But it’s good for my brain. It’s good for me.

But no. I whine and cry and jerk around all day. I blog. I write REALLY insipid poetry. I wish I was a DIFFERENT PERSON.

That’s when I knew. When I started wishing I was a different person. When I started feeling inadequate. When I started thinking that I wasn’t creative.

The phrase that popped into my head… the very first phrase was something from my childhood. When you have snuck out the window in the middle of the night for the last time to smoke cigarettes, drink, have premarital sex, whatever. They’ve found the beer bottles in the creek, the butts in the flower bed … whatever else. You don’t clean up real nice.

There’s not much to say. You hang your head in shame.

“You’re grounded.”

You pout. You know it’s for your own good though. Because you want to graduate, and go to a good school. You don’t want to end up stuck in this one-horse town, just like the rest of them. Whining about your life.